


Adventures in Fatherhood

by raiyana



Series: The Dwelf series [9]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday Gift Exchange, Illnesses, Pets, Young Legolas Greenleaf, young Elladan & Elrohir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-14 10:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13005819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Being a father can be hard work when you have to juggle things like pets, in-laws, governing a Realm, and random bouts of flu...





	1. The trouble with being a Peredhel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hideincarnate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideincarnate/gifts).



> My prompt involved Thranduil being a loving father to Legolas, though it also stated that Elrond was your favourite character... So you get both.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are differences between Men and the Eldar; the Eldar cannot catch the deseases that seem to plague Men, and they heal swifter from physical injury... but what happens to those of mixed blood?

It started with the fountain.

Well, Celebrían mused, it started with Erestor telling them not to play in the fountain and Elladan and Elrohir doing it anyway. Looking at the two boys who would usually have been up wreaking havoc by now, she frowned lightly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“What have we here, my boys,” she murmured, placing a cool hand on a sweaty forehead. Elladan whimpered weakly, leaning into her touch. “Ai, my little ones,” she said softly, bending to kiss Elrohir’s cheek. “Are you ill?” Beneath the blanket, one of them shivered.

“I’m cold, Ammë,” Elladan whispered, his voice scratchy. Celebrían hummed soothingly.

“I know, my sweet,” she whispered, “I’ll go get your Ada and some medicine, alright?”

“No leave us, Ammë…” Elladan coughed, wheezing from the effort of it. Celebrían smiled gently, but she didn’t even think about climbing into the bed and pulling her sons close to her, both of them snuggling into her body.

“I’ll be right here, boys, I promise,” she whispered, swiping sweat-damp hair away from Elladan’s forehead and tucking him more closely against her side.

 

 

“Master Elrond,” Erestor said, walking into Elrond’s study, “I cannot find the boys for their morning lessons.” Elrond sighed, but got to his feet.

“They’re probably hiding out somewhere, I’ll help you look.” Abandoning the correspondence on his desk, Elrond ducked out of the room and wandered towards the kitchen; the enticing smells often caught his sons’ small noses and the kitchen-workers had a hard time saying no to the overwhelming power of the twins’ pleading looks.

Neither boy was in the kitchen, however, nor had they been seen all morning. Elrond frowned.

Making his way to Celebrían’s favourite garden, he encountered several of her handmaidens weaving, but his wife was nowhere to be found either. Mystified, he continued to wander through the airy buildings; in the Library, he found none of them, though he did manage to interrupt Glorfindel writing poetry with an air of utmost concentration on his face.

 

 

When he had traversed the whole of the Homely House, Elrond turned his feet to his sons’ bedroom. Considering how little sleep they seemed to need, they spent very little time in there, so he hadn’t thought that to be their hiding spot, but when he neared the slightly ajar door, he could hear Celebrían’s calm voice reading a story aloud.

Pushing the door open, he startled the three inhabitants of the bed into silence.

“Ada…” Elrohir coughed, one arm flopping in Elrond’s direction. “Ada, it _hurts_.”

Moving into the room, Elrond picked up the small hand and returned it to the warmth beneath the blanket, looking up to catch Celebrían’s frightened stare.

“What’s wrong with them, Elrond?” she whispered, her arms tightening around their sons as though he was going to tell her they were dying. He smiled at her, caressing his son’s small face soothingly.

“I know, Elrohir,” he replied quietly, “but I will make you feel better soon, I promise.” Squeezing Elrohir’s clammy hand when the boy sniffled in response, Elrond sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching over to stroke Elladan’s cheek. The boy was fast asleep, burrowed into Celebrían’s side as though he was freezing, even though his skin was warm to the touch. “It seems they’ve caught themselves a cold, my love,” Elrond murmured, “they’ll be miserable for a few days, but it’s nothing dangerous. Elros…” he paused, remembering how frantic Maglor had been every time one of them so much as coughed after the first time they’d fallen ill living with him and Maedhros. “Elros and I got sick like this when we were children,” he continued, smoothing the frown on her face with his thumb. “I’ll go make them some tea for the fever and something to soothe their stomachs and ease the coughing.”

Getting to his feet, Elrond turned towards the door.

“They’ll be well, husband? Truly?” Celebrían asked when he was almost through the door. Elrond turned his head to nod at her.

“I promise, my lady-love,” he smiled, pleased to see the tension in her body dissipate. “Our sons will be back to their normal mischievous selves before you know it. Don’t expect to be allowed far from them, however,” he added, smiling wryly, “sick children want their parents.”

“You may want to find Ammë,” Celebrían replied; Elrond was amused to see the tips of her ears glowing and a light blush spreading across her cheeks. “She was in here shortly before you arrived… she was,” Celebrían paused, but Elrond could well imagine what his Noldorin mother-in-law would have thought when she saw the weak and listless shapes of her grandsons; again, he was reminded of Maglor’s panic. “…worried.”

Elrond tried not to, but he couldn’t help it; he laughed, deep chortles of pure amusement as tears of mirth escaped his eyes. In the bed, Celebrían chuckled lightly, though she still looked at their sons with some worry.

“Don’t fret, love,” he chuckled when he got himself back under control, “I will corral your ammë, too… when I have brewed a bit of medicine.”

 

Closing the door silently, Elrond continued to wipe tears of laughter from his face as he imagined the look on Galadriel’s face; it probably wasn’t fair of him to expect her to know that children of Men tended to get sick in childhood fairly regularly, but he couldn’t help but imagine her with the same expression of panic as Maglor had once worn. Instead, he began to make his way towards the other side of the house.

 

“There you are!” The Lady of Light herself appeared like a vengeful fury in his path. Elrond nearly recoiled. “My grandsons are _dying,_ and you stand here, _laughing!”_ she continued, her voice rising steadily. Behind her, Elrond caught sight of Celeborn, who looked moments from tears himself – though for a much different reason than Elrond.

“I promise you, Galadriel,” he tried, but she continued her tirade without heeding his words. In the end, Elrond snapped his hand out and clapped it across her mouth just to get a word in edgeways. “Galadriel!” he yelled, shocking her into silence. “My _sons_ will be just fine!” He continued, in a more reasonable volume, “They have merely caught a cold, but they _are not dying!_ ”

“They’re not?” she asked, grabbing for Celeborn’s hand when Elrond released her face. Elrond shook his head, surprised to see tears in her blue eyes.

“They will be fine. I am going to go brew them some tea, and get the kitchen maids to make up a nourishing broth, but the twins should be well in no more than a couple of weeks.” Celeborn wrapped his arm around Galadriel’s shoulders, tucking her into his side; her pride rarely allowed her to accept such blatant physical comfort, but she sagged against him with relief. Elrond gentled his voice, feeling slightly guilty for his earlier mirth. “I promise,” he repeated, “they will be well. Elros and I were just like that when we were children.”

Exchanging a look with Celeborn, who quietly guided his wife to a seat on one of the benches that lined the corridor, Elrond continued towards the stillroom where his many herbs and poultices were concocted. Pulling down bunches of feverfew and strips of willow-bark, he shredded the dried herbs and tied them into a small linen square. The tea would be steeped with a bit of meadowsweet to cut the taste and help the boys sleep; he’d let them sweeten it further with honey to soothe their raw throats.

Humming as he worked, the familiar scent of the herbs around him soothing to the senses, Elrond soon had an array of remedies prepared.

 

 

In the end, it took the boys less than ten days to recover, though they remained a little needy in the days after Elrond had declared them cured, sticking close to either parent and wanting hugs from their grandparents.


	2. Small Responsibilites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas desperately wants a pet - but more specifically, he wants to find the fawn that will become his mount, just like Ada's Caranor...

Springtime in Greenwood had always been Legolas’ favourite time of year; the time when everything became green again, and Adar allowed him to help find the greenest new leaves and twigs to make his crown.

It was also the time of year when the tiny fawns would be born in the birthing pens, and Alphel and he usually ran to check on the small creatures first thing in the morning. Some mornings there were no new fawns to stare at, but on his favourite so far there had been five born while he slept!

The animals were his favourite part of the Great Forest; wild or tamed. The large herds of elk that roamed their northern reaches belonged to Ada’s Halls and they were the ones that would sometimes become food, and sometimes become riding mounts. The ones destined for riding were picked early, and Legolas nurtured a silent dream that _this year_ would be the one that Ada agreed he was old enough to begin training the elk that would one day be _his_ mount, just like Caranor was Ada’s.

 

Opening his eyes before the eilinel that had a nest outside his windows had even thought about singing, Legolas crept from his bed, barely remembering to get his soft slippers onto his feet before he shot out the door.

Two doors down the corridor – _he was old enough now to have his own room; surely, he was old enough to have his own fawn, too?_ – Legolas skidded to a halt, throwing open the door to Ada’s bedroom with a loud crash.

“Legolas,” Ada groaned, “it’s not morning yet; you should be sleeping.” _He_ was awake, though, sitting by the mirror that leaned against the wall and brushing his hair. Silently, Legolas padded across the floor to lean against his side. Ada chuckled softly, which meant he wasn’t angry, and then he began to brush Legolas’ hair instead.

“But what if my fawn was born today?” Legolas asked, suddenly remembering _why_ he was awake. “I should be there to say hello first!” Ada chuckled again, wrapping part of his warm robe around Legolas as he began to braid his hair out of his face.

“When you have dressed and eaten your breakfast, ionneg,” he replied, tugging slightly. Legolas scowled. Ada made a face at him in the mirror, making him laugh instead. “When you have eaten your breakfast, Legolas, I shall go with you down to the pens; yes?” he asked. Legolas nodded. Visiting the fawns with Ada was even better than with Alphel; Rochben allowed him to go inside the pens when Ada was there.

“Can Alphel come?” Legolas asked, feeling slightly guilty at the small stab of pleasure he felt when Ada shook his head.

“No, ionneg, I think today should be just for you and I. Perhaps Alphel can go with her own Adar.” Running his fingers lightly across Legolas’ ear, Ada got to his feet, picking up his crown and placing it on his head; Legolas had helped him pick out the tiny twigs a few days earlier, and Ada had promised that he could help make a new one tomorrow.

Today, however, he was _sure_ that he was going to get his new fawn-friend!

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Legolas cried, jumping up and running circles around Ada, whooping with excitement. Ada laughed, pulling on his long robes.

“Breakfast first, ionneg,” he chided, holding out his hand. Legolas pouted, but took it; he liked walking with Ada.

“Yes, Ada,” he sighed, leaving the room, but the heavenly scent of Maeassel’s pancakes that was emanating from their private food hall soon had his stomach gurgling with hunger.

 

* * *

 

 

Staring through the fence, Legolas tried to spot any new fawns; he wanted to be sure that he found a good one. Ada was talking quietly to Rochben, but Legolas didn’t pay them any mind, straining to see if there were more fawns jumping about than yesterday.

“Ada, there’s no new fawns,” he said, wanting to cry at the thought. He’d been so _certain_ today was going to be _the_ day.

“Well, ionneg, are you sure that none of the ones already born are meant for you?” Ada asked. Legolas nodded. He wasn’t sure what Ada meant when he said ‘meant for you’, but none of the tiny fawns he’d already seen had been different from the ones before or after, so he didn’t think he had found that special fawn yet. Disappointed, he turned away from the pen, leaning against Ada’s leg and tried not to cry, remembering Thonnon’s disgust with his tears. “Very well, then,” Ada said, his large hand coming down to rest on Legolas’s shoulder; a warm guide as they followed Master Rochben away from the pen.

“Where are we going, Ada?” Legolas asked, doing his best not to sniffle.

“We are going to have a look in there,” Ada replied, pointing at the small hut that Rochben used to store feed in winter.

“At the food?” Legolas asked, mystified. Ada just nodded, the warm hand on his shoulder never leaving, the light pressure making him walk along.

 

The hut was dark, and smelled of hay. In wintertime, when Alphel had dared him to go inside, it had been filled with sacks of grain and bales of fragrant dried grass. Now, however, Legolas’ attention was instantly arrested by the small thing moving in a corner, making tiny noises of what he knew somehow was hunger.

“Go on,” Ada whispered, giving him a small push, “I’ll be right here.”

Moving slowly, Legolas heard the noises increase in volume, until his outstretched hands made contact with soft fur in the low light. A small head nudged against his leg as he stroked the tiny body, felt the thin legs that were still a little unsure try to keep the fawn upright.

“It’s my fawn, Ada, it is!” he cried, turning his head to look over his shoulder. Ada was smiling. Legolas beamed at him, falling to his knees beside the fawn and giggling when it licked the back of his hand with its raspy tongue. “It tickles!” Behind him, Ada chuckled, but Legolas paid him no mind, completely absorbed in saying hello to his fawn. It was light russet brown with white spots across the rump and a tiny tuft of a tail.

 

* * *

 

“A good choice,” Rochben mumbled, looking at the young boy and the fawn. Thranduil nodded.

“I believe so,” he agreed, “they will grow and learn together; I think Legolas is old enough for the responsibility, but I will send him to you every few days to ensure that the fawn is healthy.”

“Yes, Thranduil Aran,” Rochben nodded, leaning on his crutch. The two adults watched the young ellon for a while longer, until the sun had moved far enough to illuminate the dusty hayshed.

“It’s time for us to return to the Halls, Legolas,” Thranduil said quietly, feeling guilty for interrupting the quiet torrent of words his son was lavishing on the small fawn that seemed to be sleeping in his lap.

“But what about Gilaras?” Legolas asked, looking up at him with such worry that Thranduil felt his resolve melt.

“Gilaras will come with us,” he heard himself say, “you are going to care for her because her Naneth cannot, but I expect you to bring her down to Rochben every morning to make sure she is doing well.” He attempted sternness, but he rather feared – based on the wide smile on Legolas’ small face – that he failed spectacularly. Rochben was kind enough not to laugh, but Thranduil caught the glimmer of amusement in his face.

“Where is Gilaras’ naneth?” Legolas asked, suddenly saddened, and Thranduil could have kicked himself for the inadvertent reminder that Legolas shared his new friend’s motherless fate.

“Gilaras has no naneth, my Prince,” Rochben said calmly, “she died in the birth, which is why you will be taking care of her.” Legolas nodded thoughtfully, and Thranduil silently vowed to send a bottle of wine to Rochben later, as a thank you; he wasn’t sure he could make his voice work well enough to banish the sadness that hung over his youngest son, nor avoid giving away his own sudden rage. He did not know whether he was more angry at himself for choosing to send Nínimeth west, or at her for succumbing to her mental anguish and making it necessary that their youngest grow up without ever remembering his naneth.

“Will you carry Gilaras back, Ada?” Legolas asked, interrupting Thranduil’s self-recriminations with his bright smile. “I want her to like you.”

“Of course, I will, ionneg,” Thranduil smiled, bending to pluck the small fawn from Legolas’ lap. The soft brown eyes blinked twice, but then she settled in his hold and put her face down on his elbow, promptly falling asleep.

 

“Her name is Gilaras, because she’s a deer, and her fur has stars in it,” Legolas informed him seriously, scampering along beside him as they made their way back through the caves.

“She is a pretty fawn, Legolas,” Thranduil hummed, making the boy beam at him for the compliment, warming the colder reaches of his heart with his smile.

“Can Gilaras sleep in my room?” The question wasn’t unexpected, and even though Thranduil had never intended to remove the fawn from the pens at all he heard himself give permission just to see the smile on Legolas’ face a while longer. Shaking his head at himself, he waited patiently while Legolas filled in his little redhaired friend Alphel about his new future-mount.

When Thranduil left for court that afternoon, the two elflings – Alphel had got over her jealousy surprisingly quickly for an elfling – were fully absorbed in petting the russet fur, and watching Gilaras totter around the room.

“Galion, have some hay brought up to Legolas’ rooms for his new pet to sleep on,” Thranduil ordered, sighing at himself and picturing the exact look his Nínimeth would have worn if she caught him being this sappy with one of their elflings. For a moment, he felt almost as though she were standing beside him once more, sitting on the throne and listening to the cares of their subjects with patience and understanding. Thranduil smiled, feeling wistful as he ascended the steps and took his seat; alone but for a small plate of nibbles and a goblet of clear water.

 

He was not surprised, when he went to wish Legolas a good night, to find the boy wrapped around Gilaras as though they were already inseparable, bits of hay stuck in his clothes. Smiling, Thranduil bent to pick up his sleeping son, returning him to his bed with no more reaction than a sleepy murmur of protest that was forgotten as soon as he lifted the small warm weight of Gilaras onto the mattress as well.

“Sleep well, little ones,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Legolas’ forehead and stroking Gilaras’ back gently as he tucked the blankets around his sleeping son more securely.

**Author's Note:**

> For more child! Legolas and dad! Thranduil, check out  
>  A Leafling http://archiveofourown.org/works/11737890


End file.
